Time Pulls A Face When I'm Next To You
by CaffeineChic
Summary: Written for the makelaurahappy challenge of Make Laura Happy...with Earth


She had been forced back to Galactica. Held captive in her own home. Earth was not the promised land that they had battled for, ached for, died for. But after the initial shock and despair had faded and action and planning replaced it, they had set out to survey the rest of the planet. Somewhere in their depths, beneath the layers of grief...there was still hope (or desperation, or some mangled offspring of the two), buried deep and tinged with the fear that this is all there was, this wasteland.

A shattered dream could not be fixed but they could maybe take the shards and fashion something new. Everyone. Together. They would do this. They had no choice.

But an immune system already pushed to its limit and a cancer being flushed out could not be let loose in this new land yet. And so between their quarters and Life Station she divided her time (she let Lee take the lead for a while, for a time—they both needed it, practice maybe) She waited. She waited for treatments to end (so close now, so close), for results to be certain (please, at least don't be worse), for reports from the others (is there hope?). For Bill.

He returned in the evenings (from where she had made him go on both their behalves), after long days of surveying, of digging this new terrain. She envied him his time on the surface, knew that he would stay up in the stars with her if she asked, retracted her encouragement to work down with the others.

She heard him come home, heard the hatch open and close, all through the barrier of some half-dream she was having. Awake, asleep, neither, both. Eyes hooded, seeing but not seeing. His boots were covered in dirt, in mud, in soil. His clothes too. His hands—his hands were coated, completely painted in it. She had a bare leg, stuck out from the covers, all pale skin from toe to hip, exposed, she knew, to his view. She slept in her underwear and one of his tanks now (and in his bed, in his arms). She pulled herself into the waking world to meet him in it. Stretching slowly but not rising, a sleep-filled smile her welcome home to him.

His gaze was preoccupied...his eyes raking down the length of her leg (not uncommon, dressed or undressed, she knew that he looked), and she wiggled her toes as hello. His hand reached out and grabbed her ankle, causing her to still, awaiting his next move. He sat down and laid her leg across his knees. He began kneading. The dirt (she was awake now and could see, he was caked in dirt) from his hands transferring to her skin.

"Bill..."

His fingers tickled the sole of her foot, causing her leg to snap up (and a giggle fly out) in response. He caught her ankle mid-jump and flashed her a grin. "Ssshh."

She relaxed into his touch, curious as to his intention, let him push her toes into a point, causing her calf muscle to flex, the line of muscle strong and sure—not all of her body had turned on her, some of it determined to stand its ground. His fingers moved along the line, streaking dirt, embedding along the way. His hand wiping her shin, all the way to her knee where his palm encompassed and rubbed, fingertips massaging the skin behind it.

"Bill, I'm covered in dirt now." She tried to catch his gaze, succeeded and raised an eyebrow (what are you doing?).

He met her eyes full-on, his hands stilling. "We found...we found soil, healthy soil, vegetation. This isn't dirt. Its soil. Earth. You're covered in Earth." (in this new life, in this new hope)

She was stunned, such simple words, such fact (such _hope_). She felt like it was pushing through her skin (this of course she realised, had been his intent). She felt his hand continue up her thigh, dancing inside as his eyes sparkled at her (Gods, he was beautiful, though she would never use that word to him out loud, he _was_ in this moment—beautiful). There was hope, and he was rubbing it into his skin. She grinned and laughed and in a single move, she reached out and slid her fingers between the buttons of his uniform, pushing between the fabric and hauling him to her as she rose as much as she could to meet his mouth with hers. She felt him catch them both and ease their fall back onto the rack (always their way—she pulled them where they needed to be, he eased their fall). He landed on top of her as she further scissored him between her legs.

Mouths opened to each other, lips and teeth and tongues teasing and nipping and tasting. Her tongue caressed his, fiercely, with all the words that were beyond her grasp. Fingers undid buttons, working to rid him of his uniform jacket, the belt, the pants, the tank top (a single one, the other currently still dressing her). His hands found the skin under her (his) tank and dragged it up her body, leaving more trails soil (of Earth, of hope) on her skin.

She sat up into the movement, helping him discard the tank, seeing the full extent of the marks on her now. His handprints on her skin. The soil would wash off, would disappear, but she felt in that instant that she would always be able to see his hands on her now. She grinned and placed a line of kisses along his jaw, her hands losing themselves in his hair, her mouth reaching his ear, teeth closing on and tugging gently on an earlobe. He hissed and pulled her impossibly closer—she smiled as he whispered, "I love you," and pushed into his lap as hard as she could, feeling the hardness beneath his shorts (why did he still have those on?).

He dragged her mouth back to his as he pushed her back down on the rack. She raised her right leg, the one he had coloured, and with a dexterity that she surprised even herself with, hooked a toe into the waistband of his shorts. He took the hint, pulling back long enough to strip them clear, and remove her underwear too. He settled back between her thighs, and she sighed happily at the contact of his skin so utterly against hers. He had spent the day surveying the planet below them, this land that had been tragedy and now held the possibility of glory, and he turned his attention to her.

She moved into his every touch, every stroke, every kiss. Her own hands and lips plotting out the nation that was him. He nuzzled her breast, the sick one, the ill one, the one that he always gave the most time to (she thought, always, that he was trying to love the cancer out of her. She loved him). He licked and kissed and sucked, and she was lost in his love (she wished for no map). Her fingers dug into his skin (come closer, closer, closer, always closer).

She felt a hand move down between them and caught his wrist before he hit his target. "Bill Adama, I love you, but if you think I'm letting you get soil down there..."

He chuckled against her breast, the sound rumbling through her. He kissed her as they both laughed, happy and light and covered in dirt that was not dirt. She let go of his wrist and reached for him, grasping him firmly, hand stroking, teasing, clear with intent, feeling him buck into her hold. She guided him into her, the hum she knew drove him crazy (in the best way) drifting from her throat as they began to move together. Rocking and thrusting, movement for movement. A fire ignited inside of her, burning fierce and building building building. Somewhere through the inferno that was starting to engulf her, a thought, an idea, a strategy formed and rooted itself.

"Bill." His name a breath, gasp. She tried again, fuller this time. "Bill, do you...do you remember the exact stop you got the soil from?" Her fingernails dug into his shoulder (to keep hold, to get his attention). "The earth, do you remember where you got it from?"

His mouth, currently occupied with her collarbone, kissed a "Yes" against her flesh.

"Good, good...Oh Gods..._There_..." She arched into him. Gasped sharply. "I mean there, that's where I'm going to marry you."

He thrust hard into her "Yeah, ok..I...what?" She laughed gently around a hiss of pleasure. His movements were more erratic now, but she was a woman with a plan, dragging his mouth back to hers.

"We're getting married on that spot."

She rocked, he thrust, she burned and burned and burned, the fire swallowing her as she came, as he followed her through the flames. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him flush against her as the fire cooled, leaving a loving heat in both of them. She felt his lips on her cheek, kissing her softly, lightly. "Did you just propose?"

She turned into him and grinned, giddy and sated and happy. "Nope. _Proposing_ infers an option. I'm going to marry you, and you're going to be stuck with me for the rest of my life." The life came out of her light and air and full of joy. Life. Hope. She giggled and let her body shake with the happiness that was tremoring through her.

He laughed with her, wrapped his arms around her. "Ok."

Cancer and dread and devastation felt as if they were receding like a tide; a wave, washing away, leaving behind the dirt that was not dirt, this ground, this soil, this earth on her skin, placed there by him. Water, so impossible to stand upon, that would have carried her away, away, away from him—she felt it draining from her.

In its place: Earth and its solidity that would let her stand with him. On a foundation. For a cabin. For a marriage. For a future. Together.


End file.
